Chapter Text
He finds Ryan in the practice room, sitting against the wide windows overlooking the golf course of Lava Springs, shadowy and distant in the darkness. Chad stops in the doorway, looking at him, the way he’s kind of curled up on himself, chin on his knees.
“Hey,” he says softly, slipping through the door and shutting it behind him.
Ryan lifts his head and looks at him. He is not, as Chad had half-feared, crying. His eyes may be red, but his chin is set and his mouth hard. It softens some when he sees Chad, though.
“Hey,” Ryan replies. “Sorry I took off before. I just.” He shakes his head and looks away, hugging his knees awkwardly.
“Yeah,” says Chad and sits down beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder, crumpling in his hand the staff memo Taylor had handed out. “I’m sorry. I know this meant a lot to you.”
Ryan scowls at the floor. “I wish everything wasn’t about Sharpay,” he says furiously. “I wanted to have one damned thing. One stupid show that wasn’t all about her. And she couldn’t even let me have that.”
“It sucks, man,” agrees Chad, and feels Ryan slump against him.
“I hate her sometimes,” he says. “And she doesn’t even care. She didn’t even do this because of me, it’s all about Troy, and I bet she hasn’t even realised that she’s screwing everything up for me.”
And that, Chad reflects, is probably the truest thing one could say about Sharpay.
“If it helps,” he offers, “and it probably won’t, but we all like you better.”
Ryan turns his head, twisting his mouth wryly. “It does help some,” he says.
~
Ryan sits with the basketball team at lunch a lot now. Not that any of them are anywhere near as cliquey as they used to be: even though they still gravitate to similar social groups, people breaking out of those groups are no longer regarded askance. So Ryan shyly showing up with his lunch tray and his hat on crooked on the first day gets barely an eyeblink, and Chad just shuffles over to make room.
Once he gets more comfortable, Ryan turns out to be a funny guy to have around. He’s got a quick sense of humour and a ready smile, and he dishes out teasing and sucks it up with equal grace.
By the second week back, he’s made himself a regular seat at their table, squished in between Zeke and Chad. Chad usually steals his hat at some point during the day. He like Ryan’s hats.
~
Chad’s got no idea how it happens. He and Ryan are arguing over some stupid thing, some ridiculous little non-issue like icecream flavours or movies or hats, the way they do, but Chad’s had a bad practice, with Coach Bolton yelling and snapping the whole time, and Ryan is stressed and high-strung.
And things just get out of control. One minute they’re bickering amiably over mystery meat in the cafeteria and the next they’re on their feet, standing two feet away from each other, yelling on top note.
It isn’t until the cafeteria goes silent around them that Chad realises what’s just come out of his mouth. It’s a word his mother had once slapped him for repeating it after hearing it from a boy a school, a horrible, hateful word, and he’s just spat it at his friend. As soon as it’s left his lips, he wants to yank it back, but it’s too late. Ryan flinches like he’s been slapped, blood draining out of his face, and Chad takes a step forward, reaches out, mouth open to apologise.
But the hurt on Ryan’s face shifts to anger, and he turns and is gone before Chad can stammer out a single word. Silence ripples out from their table, and Chad can feel a hundred pairs of eyes on him.
“You’re dead, Danforth,” says Sharpay, and he’s never heard her sound like that, voice gone cold and shaking.
~
“I’m sorry,” he says, helplessly aware of just how tiny the words are.
Ryan face is turned away, not looking at him. All Chad can see is the edge of his jaw, the slope of his brow, the hard, tight set of his shoulders. He tries again. “I know I was an idiot. I should never have called you that. I’m really sorry.”
“Did you mean it?” Ryan’s voice is calm and even.
“No,” says Chad straightaway, then takes a deep breath and launches into the speech he’d worked out with Taylor. “I’m an asshole. I was mad and tired and you were there, and I just lashed out. I don’t have any excuses, and I’m really sorry, and Ryan please, just look at me?”
Ryan turns his head, and his face, like his voice, is shuttered and emotionless. Chad knows by now that that’s bad – when Ryan is happy, he can’t hide it, but when he’s not, he tries really hard to conceal it.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, “and I wish I could take it back, and I know you have no reason to believe me or trust me or anything, but I’m really sorry. I want to make this better. I’ll do anything to make it better.”
He spots a little chin-wobble before Ryan turns to gaze out the window again. “So you don’t think that,” says Ryan, like he’s trying to get his head around it.
“No,” says Chad fiercely, and steps closer until he’s right in Ryan’s space. He touches Ryan’s shoulder, firm, palm against the soft fabric of his shirt. “I don’t think that. You’re my friend, and you’re a good guy. That’s all that matters.”
“And you’re an asshole,” says Ryan, but it’s almost idle, and Chad feels something unclench in his belly. He hooks an arm around Ryan’s shoulders, puts his chin on Ryan’s shoulder.
“I know,” he says. “Did I mention I’m sorry?”
“Several times,” says Ryan dryly. “You also mentioned something about doing anything to get back in my good graces.”
“No nudity,” says Chad quickly, and feels Ryan’s shoulders twitch with laughter.
“Bit late to be making conditions,” he says, and tips his head so the ends of Chad’s curls brush his face.
“What?” says Chad warily.
Ryan grins, all mischief. “We always need more male dancers for the Fall Musical,” he remarks, and laughs at Chad’s expression.
“It’s a Musicale, thanks,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, and Ryan shoves him gently, grinning.
~
Even though he’s ninety percent sure Ryan was joking about the whole dancing thing, Chad shows up on audition day anyway. He even goes to the mall beforehand and makes up a t-shirt that says No way I’m wearing tights, Twinkletoes. It’s not exactly witty, but when Ryan spots it from across the room his whole face lights up with laughter, and it’s worth the five bucks it cost to screen-print it just for that.
~
“I can’t believe you’re making me dance,” Chad says, muffled by the couch cushion over his face. “In the freaking musical.”
Ryan ruffles his hair. “I’m not doing it to torment you,” he promises. “You’re actually pretty good.”
Chad pulls the cushion away and looks up at Ryan, perched on the arm of the couch. “I can’t even pronounce my character’s name.”
“Mercutio,” Ryan tells him. “He’s really awesome. He’s Romeo’s best friend, and whenever Romeo starts mooning over girls, Mercutio tells dirty jokes and makes fun of him. And then he has a duel with Tybalt.”
“And dies.”
“And dies,” Ryan agrees. “But that’s going to be the major dance number for you, the duel scene. Since a lot of the rest of the play is romance and kind of wordy, it should be a really awesome number, very physical, hardcore.” He shoves at Chad’s feet until Chad lifts them, leaving space for him to sit down.
“Who’s playing Tybalt?” he mumbles drowsily, stretching out until his feet land in Ryan’s lap.
“That would be me,” says Ryan.
Chad blinks up at him. “Not playing Romeo?”
Ryan snorts, and his fingers circle Chad’s ankle. “With a better-than-average chance of my sister getting Juliet? No way in hell.” He looks contemplative. “And Romeo’s a whiny bitch anyway. Tybalt’s way more interesting.”
“So we’ll be dancing together?” says Chad, wriggling his toes.
“Yep,” says Ryan. “And I get to kill you brutally. It should be very dramatic.”
Chad snickers half-heartedly, eyes drifting shut. “You choreographing?”
“Mm.” Ryan’s fingers tap against Chad’s anklebone in a steady rhythm. “Got some ideas already. We’ll work something out that’s good for both of us.”
“Awesome,” says Chad, and yawns, pressing the soles of his feet against Ryan’s thigh.
There’s the sound of jingling keys, and then the front door opens and two little leotard-clad girls tumble in and, upon spotting Ryan, immediately race over to the couch to jump on him.
“Girls!” scold Chad’s mother, coming in through the door with her arms full of groceries. “Leave him be, would you? Hi, Ryan, honey.”
“Hello, Mrs Danforth.” Ryan smiles sweetly at her.
“Hi, Mom,” says Chad pointedly.
“Hi, sweetie,” she says distractedly. “Help me with these bags, could you?”
Chad groans and heaves himself up off the couch to help unpack in the kitchen. By the time he gets back, Nicole and Jessica are proudly showing off their plies for Ryan, who is nodding appreciatively and correcting their posture.
“Head up, sweetheart, you’re a princess, not a blushing debutante,” he says, and Nicole nods and lifts her chin, straightening her spine. Jessica bounces, demanding attention, and Ryan takes her hand and twirls her around, and then has to do the same for Nicole until they’re both dancing around him in the space between the couch and the coffee table, laughing.
~
The practice in a room out the back of the theatre, snuggled away in the labyrinthine hallways and stairways that make up the backstage area.
“It’s actually under the stage itself,” Ryan tells him, pointing upward. The low ceiling is rigged with cabling and trapdoors, give the whole area a claustrophobic feel, but the floorspace is as large as the stage above, which is all they need.
They dance without music first, setting and following the noise they make with their feet, the steady rhythm of their breath. Chad can feel the energy of it already in the skeleton shape of the dance. He’s not good, not like Ryan is with his instinctual feel for the motions and the music, but he likes this dance, likes dancing with Ryan, the push and pull, the graceful aggression.
He’s breathless by the third run-through, grinning like an idiot at the way the movements are starting to become familiar. He still compares himself to Ryan, unfavourably, but Ryan says it’s okay.
“That’s an aspect of the character,” he says as they’re sitting against the wall, huddled around Ryan’s iPod trying to find a song that fits the dance Ryan’s invented. “Tybalt’s the smooth one. Mercutio’s all happy-go-lucky. He’s charming, but a bit, you know, slapdash. Tybalt will have everything perfect, but Mercutio’s more carefree.” Ryan waves his hands around aimlessly.
“You’re just trying to make me feel better because I’m a sucky dancer,” Chad complains, and Ryan laughs.
“You’re not a sucky dancer, dude. You’re actually pretty good. You’re innately graceful, good rhythm, decent balance. You have,” more hand-waving ensues here, as Ryan searches for a word, “energy. Like you’re buzzing, always moving.” He snaps his fingers. “You’re happy to be moving, you know? Like dancing’s the most fun you’ve ever had.”
“It is,” says Chad, unthinkingly. Ryan looks surprised and pleased, and Chad backtracks hastily. “I mean, it’s a lot of fun. I like the way it feels.”
“Okay, Mr I-don’t-dance,” says Ryan, smirking.
Chad shoves him playfully, and Ryan shoves him back, and they play-wrestle on the worn carpeting until the bell rings to signal the end of lunch.
~
Taylor gestures as she talks; sharp, clear movements of her hands as she sketches out gradients and curves in the air. Chad leans his head on his hand and watches her instead of the textbook.
“Chad, are you listening?” she asks sharply, and he smiles and touches her hand.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says quietly, and watches her face go soft and fond. “And you’re really smart and nice. I think I like you better than any girl I’ve ever known.”
She raises an eyebrow, smiling. “Are you trying to get in my pants?”
“No,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. I think I’m breaking up with you.”
She stares at him. “But. All that stuff you just said.” She looks hurt, and confused, and Chad wants to take back what he just said, but he puts his head down on the table instead.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’m just – I’m confused, is what. And I don’t think I can do this, and it’s not fair on you.”
He hides his face in the cradle of his arms and listens to the steady sound of her breathing. He likes her, he really does.
She touches his shoulder tentatively. “Confused about what?”
“Nothing,” he says thickly. “It’s nothing, just stupid stuff.”
He waits for her to leave, or to get angry and start shouting or crying, or something. But she just sits there for a while longer, rubbing slow circles on his shoulder, breathing in and out in her quiet ‘I’m-thinking-really-hard’ way.
His stomach hurts.
“You know,” she says after a while, “if you were to tell me something, that would be okay. I wouldn’t get mad. And I wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“Something?” he says to his elbow.
“And it might help. Talking about it.” She puts her head down on the table next to him, so when he turns, they’re at eye-level.
“Not everybody might feel the same,” he says, and she nods.
“People are stupid that way.” She touches his hair, and one corner of her mouth quirks up.
“Come on, you big dumb jock. Work to be done.”
“Okay, geek.”
~
All-cast rehearsals for the play start the following week, and the look on Troy’s face when he sees Chad there, goofing around with Ryan, has to be seen to be believed.
“You’re playing Mercutio?” he asks stupidly while Ms Darbus waves her hands around and enunciates onstage.
Chad frowns. “Didn’t I tell you? I thought I told you.” He tries to remember. He’s sure he’d told Troy, and Troy had kind of nodded vaguely and complained about Sharpay while Gabriella looked unhappy.
Troy sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “You probably did. I’m sorry, man. I’ve been pretty out of it the last couple of weeks.”
“Something wrong?” asks Chad, slouching further down in his seat as Darbus warbles happily and points at Kelsi. On his other side, Ryan nudges him and grins, but Chad shakes his head and indicates Troy. Ryan nods.
Troy slouches in his seat. “Been fighting with Gabi a lot.” He picks at a loose thread in his jeans.
“’Bout anything in particular?” asks Chad.
Before any answer, Ms Darbus’ strident voice intrudes. “Mr Danforth, Mr Bolton, I hope I have not made a mistake in allowing a pair of uncultured sport aficionados such as yourselves into these hallowed halls.”
She’s standing over them, peering through her oversized glasses. Her scarf is a shade of purple that resembles nothing more than the bruise Troy got on his face that one time Chad accidentally pegged him with a baseball. They stare.
“Are we ready, gentlemen?” she snaps, and they both leap to their feet.
Rehearsal begins.
Taylor’s been helping him with the dialogue, the tricky sentence constructions and impossible words. They’ve taken Mercutio’s long speeches and substituted them for dance numbers and love songs. The memorisation is a snap, easy as anything, but getting the meaning behind the sounds rolling out of his mouth is something else. Aside from Sharpay and Ryan, he’s the only one who knows all his dialogue. Troy is scolded for being unprepared, and he stands with his arms at his sides and looks wounded. Ms Darbus is unmoved.
She calls them a bunch of unprofessional semi-literate amateurs, tells them they’re disgracing the good name of the theatre, and bursts into tears.
After she leaves, Ryan announces into the stunned silence, “Don’t worry. She’s like this every time. Shall we start with the ballroom scene?” and they go from there.
~
Troy and Gabriella break up a few days later. It’s very quiet, with Gabriella being all dignified and regretful and Troy pulling puppy-dog eyes and looking incredibly confused by the whole thing.
“I just don’t know, man,” he says, looking bewildered. He catches the basketball Chad passes and dribbles it half-heartedly.
“She didn’t say why?” asks Chad.
“She did,” says Troy. “I’m sure she did. But I was mostly stuck on the part where she was dumping me.” He passes the ball back to Chad, and turns away. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”
“Maybe nothing,” says Chad. “Maybe she just thought it better that you broke it off now and stayed friends, rather than trying to do the whole long-distance thing at college.”
“Maybe,” says Troy glumly, and sits down on the bleachers. “Girls are weird.”
“No argument,” says Chad, abandoning the basketball. “Another species.”
“So how’s it going with you and Taylor, anyway?” Chad looks at him, and Troy looks apologetic. “I mean, you said you guys broke up, but you still hang out all the time. It doesn’t seem like much has changed.”
Chad shrugs. It’s true, very little has changed between him and Taylor – she still tutors him and bullies him into doing his homework, he still teases her and walks her to class. The fact that nothing has really changed post-breakup is probably an indication of how serious they weren’t.
“Taylor’s a great girl,” he says. “She is.”
“But?” asks Troy, turning his water bottle over and over in his hands.
“But,” says Chad, takes a deep breath, and says it. “But I’m starting to think. Maybe I’m not. Um. Actually all that interested in girls.”
Troy goes still beside him. “Oh,” he says, and Chad can’t really read anything in his voice and is too scared to look.
He looks down instead, the red fabric of his shorts, the weird bones in his knees. His fingers curl into fists and he can feel his heart pounding away, the heat rising to his face, and Troy is just sitting there, not saying anything.
The silence stretches on and on, until all Chad can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and his own unsteady breathing.
“Okay,” says Troy at last. “Okay. That was… unexpected.”
Chad makes a noise that might have been a laugh and might have been a sob but ends up sounding more like a hiccup than anything. “Oh, God,” he says. “That’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.”
Troy looks apprehensive. “Are you freaking out? Don’t freak out, man, it’s okay. It’s cool.”
“I’m freaking out,” Chad confirms shakily, and puts his head between his knees. Troy’s hand lands on his back, then leaps away for a second, then returns. Freaking out, Chad thinks dizzily, and concentrates on breathing.
Once the desire to throw up has receded, he sits up and twists his shaking fingers into the hem of his t-shirt. “Sorry,” he says.
Troy still looks vaguely alarmed, but manages a smile. “I guess one of us had to spazz over this, huh?”
“Please feel free,” Chad tells him. “There’s no statute of limitations on freakouts.”
Troy shakes his head, and this time the smile is more natural. “It’s all good. You just caught me by surprise, you know?”
Something eases in Chad’s chest at this. He nods, and nods again, and then stops before he starts to look like one of those bobble-headed dolls. “Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, good.” He uncurls his fingers from their nervous fists. “So, we’re cool?”
“I reserve the right to freak later on,” says Troy. “But I’m being very calm and accepting because I really don’t want you to pass out.” He smiles suddenly, and claps a deliberately brotherly hand on Chad’s shoulder. “Of course we’re cool.” A frown creases his forehead briefly. “I mean, it’s not – I mean – me?”
Chad blinks. “Ew,” he says succinctly, because really.
~
At their next tutoring session, Taylor shows up to Chad’s place armed with an armful of printed sheets and a headful of interesting facts gleaned from some serious Googling. “It’s pretty common for teenagers to be confused,” she tells him, scattering articles all over his Biology homework. “It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re, um, you know.”
“Gay?” says Chad, just to watch her twitch. “It’s okay. I talked to Troy some, and I think I’m less confused now.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Troy?”
Something about the emphasis she puts on Troy’s name makes him frown. “Not like that, Tay. Jeez. He’s my best friend, and I was confused, so I talked to him. It’s not like that.”
“Oh,” she says. “So when you say you’re less confused?”
He shrugs. “I’m not saying I’m not confused. And it’s not like I want to shout about it from the rooftops.”
“But,” she says, and he nods.
“But,” he says. “You’re really nice, and I really like you, but I’m just. Not. The girl thing. I’m sorry.”
She smiles and pats his hand. “It’s okay, sweetie. I actually did some research on that, too. Have you ever heard of this thing called the Kinsey Scale?”
~
Ryan is stretching when Chad shows up for dance rehearsals, spread out on the floor with his forehead pressed to his knee and his hands wrapped around his heel. “You’re late,” he says, muffled.
“Sorry,” says Chad, kicking off his shoes and dropping to the floor next to Ryan. ‘Troy and I had a thing. There was drama.”
Ryan uncurls, the line of his back slowly straightening. He frowns, looking weirdly undressed without his hat. “Oh. Well, try to keep an eye on the time.”
“I know, I know. Sorry.” Chad knows how hard Ryan’s been working on the dances for the show, how much he’s been stressing over it. “On the plus side, I’m all warmed up, so we can get started?” He tries some hopeful puppy-dog eyes, and he’s not as good at it as Troy, but the corner of Ryan’s mouth twitches.
“Brat,” says Ryan affectionately, and ruffles his hair.
They start work on one of the earlier pieces for the show, where Romeo waxes poetic about his love for Rosalind, (“I thought he was after Juliet?” “God, Chad, will you pay attention?”) while Mercutio dances around and makes fun of him.
The soundtrack is something light and fast-paced, energetic, and Chad picks up the steps relatively quickly, while Ryan bounces around calling directions and laughing when Chad gets turned around and forgets what’s going on.
“Come on,” he laughs, as the music winds to a halt. “You’ve gotta shake your hips more, man. Don’t be shy.” He slaps a hand at Chad’s hip, connecting with a sharp crack, and Chad laughs and grabs at Ryan, swinging him around.
The stumble, hanging onto each other, until Ryan’s back hits the wall and Chad falls against him, laughing into his shoulder. Ryan grabs his arms and squeezes gently.
As he gets his breath back, Chad becomes intensely aware that he’s got Ryan pinned up against the wall, chests pressed close together. He slides his hands carefully down to rest lightly at Ryan’s waist, suddenly short of breath all over again.
Ryan goes still under him, and his fingers dig into Chad’s biceps hard. He turns his head and Chad feels warm breath spilling over his cheek, the slight tremble running through him.
“Chad,” says Ryan in a very calm voice that barely shakes at all. “Chad, if you’re just messing with me, I need you to stop right now, okay?”
Chad thinks about playing baseball, and dancing, and the bright, wide smile Ryan wears all the time nowadays, because he can’t hide how happy he is.
“And if I’m not messing with you?” he says softly. He turns his own head until his nose bumps against Ryan’s and he can see Ryan’s eyes, wide and startled.
Ryan makes a strangled noise. “Yeah, right.” He twists unhappily in Chad’s grip, not trying to get away, just uncomfortable. It presses them closer together, and Chad sucks in a breath.
“Ryan,” he says urgently, and takes his hands away from Ryan’s waist. Ryan’s face is flushed and feels hot under his palms and Ryan goes still, mouth open and round in astonishment. “Ryan,” Chad says again, and kisses him.
There’s a terrifying, horrible moment when Ryan just stands there, tense as piano wire, and their mouths are pressed together awkwardly and Chad has just enough time to panic.
Then Ryan kind of sighs, and tips his head slightly, and Chad thinks oh. Ryan relaxes against him by degrees, his slim body going soft and pliant, and Chad opens his mouth against Ryan’s and kisses him until he’s dizzy.
And it’s different from kissing Taylor, from kissing a girl. Ryan’s chest is hard and bony against his own, his hands are strong, and he’s close to Chad’s own height. But his mouth is soft and warm, and he puts an arm around Chad’s waist and hangs on tight, and it’s good like Chad hadn’t believed was possible.
When he breaks the kiss he can’t even look Ryan in the eye, turning to press his face against Ryan’s sweaty neck instead. Ryan’s shaking hands run up and down his back, slow and soothing, and Ryan makes this soft murmuring noise.
“Oh,” he says quietly, at length. “Are you okay?”
Chad nods. “Yeah. Just gimme a minute.” Ryan’s hand cups the back of his neck, and he feels Ryan turn his head and kiss Chad’s temple, and somehow that makes it okay, makes it better, and he can feel the freakout receding. It’s not entirely gone, just delayed, but right now, he’s okay.
“Sorry,” he says. “Okay. God.”
“Okay?” says Ryan, and Chad lifts his head and looks at him, except Ryan’s eyes flutter almost closed and he stares at Chad’s mouth.
Chad swallows. His arms are still caught around Ryan’s back and Ryan’s fingers are tickling lightly against the nape of his neck, and they’re pressed close together, chest down to knees, and can feel the jerking of Ryan’s unsteady breathing in his own chest.
Their mouths come together again, and it’s still shocking and strange. He notices other things this time – Ryan’s mouth tastes like strawberry chapstick and spit, Ryan’s cheeks are smooth and free of stubble, Ryan’s hands reach up to twine in his hair, cradling his head carefully.
It’s Ryan who breaks the kiss this time, brushing his lips gently across the corner of Chad’s mouth, his cheek.
“Yeah,” says Chad, surprised by the roughness of his own voice. “Okay.”